Faithless
by FireChestnut
Summary: What really happened to Jill under the careful watch of Wesker? Un-forgiving, relentless, and downright faithless. A struggle with obsession and hatred. Wekser X Jill.
1. Ways to Convey

This story takes place right after Jill pushed Wesker out of the mansion window.

Looking for fluff? You're in the wrong place.

Romance? Wrong place.

Hapless shenannigans, laughs and snuggling?

Wrong place.

Warning-not for the zombie lovers.

_Warning - combustible_

Looking for PWP? Go to or write your own.

_Please note the un-even pavement. _

Jill is likely not admirable to Wesker in the first place, nor is she weak, defenseless and totally and utterly vulnerable.

_Danger - high voltage_

She did not dye her hair blonde, and Wesker or anyone else certainly didn't do it for her.

_Warning - highly unstable, handle with care. _

Albert Wesker is not a kind man who is misunderstood. Nor is he a super-evil-demonic-villian with a shot libido looking for teh smex. I will not try to redeem him, or portray him as any of previous stated.

_Rated M for strong violence, sexual content and explicit language. _

This is not a "Wesker takes advantage of Jill and they run off happily together." fic.

This is a story about fear and doubt, obsession and utter loathing, not graphic sex and lust.

_Warning - keep away from children _

Read it, you may just end up liking it.

And as always, read and review.

______________________________________________

_Vicious cold now settles in  
My bones feel like their breaking through my skin  
God damn you you're feeding on my loneliness  
But I will not let you in, I won't let you in -- City and Colour, Faithless  
_

______________________________________________

I can taste blood. My head aches, my arm hurts--everything hurts. I try to move my arm; maybe hold onto to something, but it won't move. White hot pain shoots up my wrist and ends at my shoulder. It's broken, my bloody arm is broken. Something in the distance moans. Short, terrified gasps escape my mouth as I try to see ahead in the pitch black. I realize who it is now. I can see the stark outline of his figure illuminated by the iridescent moon-light. It's Wesker. He groans again and I can hear audible shuffling. Perhaps he's trying to get up. There's a moment of silence before he lets out an ear-piercing yell.

"Fuck!" He screams. It's the first time I've heard Wesker in such a panic. I can hear his breaths, drawn out and ragged, nearing me. He must be crawling along the ground. What I hear next shocks me. "Jill." I hold my breath. "Jill." He says it louder this time. "_Jillian!" _I draw back in surprise, and fear. I have no idea on where he is, it's too damn dark outside. I feel a hand on my shin. Large and strong. I stifle a yelp and try kicking him away, but it only makes his grip tighten. "Jill, I know you're hurt." He begins. "I don't want to hurt you." He seethes at some un-seen ailment. He catches his breath before talking again. "I've only twisted my ankle." I want to laugh, I thought his injury would be worse by his little episode earlier.

"Go away." I say quietly, I have no energy for sarcastic back-lashes. He chuckles darkly before moving his hand up to grip my thigh.

"You're in no condition for me to leave you alone."

I want to punch him, but my free arm is numb and useless.

"I'd rather die than accept help from you." I spat.

I hear nothing in the blackness, only my own shallow breaths.

"You have no choice, Jillian."

I hate how my name rolls of his tongue.

"Do I now?"

He chuckles again, this time it's soft and drawn out.

A throbbing pain cracks through my skull, and I bite my lip. I touch the back of my head. Wet and warm. I feel panic stricken, and hope I don't have a serious head injury. But then again, it would be ten times better than being taken in by Wesker.

"You...come...like...not..."

I can't understand him, the world is spinning around me. The darkness consumes me. And finally, I am left at peace--for the moment.

___________________________________________________

A jolt of awareness rushes through my body as I realize I'm no longer on that rocky beach from before. Instead, I'm lying face down on wet pavement. Black boots are directly in front of me; his boots. I can hear him laugh as he fiddles with a padlock.

"Awake I see." He pulls out a thin, brass key and jams it into the iron lock. I only stare ahead, wondering where we are. Out of my peripheral vision, I can make out thick forest.

"Where the hell are we?" I choke out. My throat is dry and hoarse.

"Now why would I tell you that?" He says, his voice mocking. "It wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it."

I want so badly to reach out and snap his ankle, but I'm far too injured to do anything at the moment. I try to move my free hand, and look down to see that I am bound by some crude roping.

"My arms broken, you know!" I yell. The pain is excruciating.

"I know."

"Bastard!"

He says nothing, and finally opens the locked gate blocking the entrance to god-knows-where. He hovers over me; I can't see his face. I shriek as his boot makes contact with my ribs. The impact rolls me over onto my back, and I am forced to look up at his face. It's unchanging; emotionless, but I can make out the tiniest of smirks on his mouth as I clench my jaw and eyes shut from the pain.

"Tsk tsk, Jillian. Calling me names won't get you anywhere." He smiles.

I frown briefly before he kicks me again. This time I don't scream, but I still yelp.

"Get up." He commands. Is he joking? I can barely even move.

"I can't." I snarl. He kicks me again, this time harder.

"Get. up." I notice now that his voice gets quieter the angrier he gets. I can see his foot drawing back for another devastating blow.

"_I can't!_" I yell, hoping it will force him to stop. Hot, angry tears threaten to spill down cheeks, but I blink them away. He grunts and roughly grabs my broken arm and wrenches me upright. I shriek.

"Be quiet." He says suddenly. He snakes his hand under my knees and lifts me up into his arms. I groan, the pain is unbearable. I am still questioning his actions, just earlier he seemed keen on helping me.

_"I don't want to hurt you."_

For some time we move along a dark, wet corridor. There is no light, except for his wrist watch, which glows a dull green. Finally, we reach a large steel door. He sets me down, more gently than I expected. I can't see anything. I can hear him walk off to the side of the door, his actions illuminated by his watch. He punches a code into a keypad, which reveals an eye scanner. I gasp as the door behind me slowly opens. It obviously hasn't been used in years. He picks me up again.

"You will learn to obey me." He says out of the blue.

"And what if I don't?" I retort, I don't feel like making my replies long and elaborate.

He grabs my injured arm and twists it violently.

"That will happen." He says as he releases his grip. A stray tear runs down my cheek, and I can't help but feel utterly hopeless. I sniffle. Thinking I'm docile, he reaches out and pats my head. "Good girl."

What am I, six?

The corridor stops abruptly. This time he keeps me in his arms. He takes a small penlight from his pocket and flicks it on, running the beam of light over the smooth rock. Finding what he's looking for, he presses his hand firmly against the rock face. Surely enough, the rock opens up, revealing a large laboratory. He steps inside, the rock closing behind him.

He walks past the various tables, test tubes and other doors before entering another hallway. The hallway is short, metal, and reminds me of a hospital corridor. He opens the door ahead and climbs the metal stairs leading up. A diagram of the levels is beside us, we're on level 2. He begins walking up, and enters another hallway, this time it's larger. He rounds the corner, and I can see a small door at the end. We go inside.

He drops me on the ground.

"This is your room." He says.

The room is medium at best. The floor is steel and icy to the touch. There is no bed, only this large, vast space.

"Aren't you going to fix my arm?" I ask. He looks down at me.

"I have important business to tend to, I'll do it later." He says, "but for now--." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a syringe. I squeal and push myself into the furthest corner of the room. He laughs. "It's only a painkiller." He kneels down beside me and flicks the needle a few times. I close my eyes cringe as he spreads my skin taught with his fingers. He plunges the needle in. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He gets up briskly and walks towards the door. He looks at me briefly, and leaves.

The drug makes me very tired, and I curl up against the wall and fall asleep.

I awake to find myself on my back on a steel table. Horror racks through my body as I realize my bare ass is touching the table. A thin, white sheet covers my body; the edge folded and tucked under my arms. I feel disgusted, knowing that he undressed me.

Wesker is at the far side of the room, a pair of scissors in his hands. He's cutting something rather large. I stay perfectly still, hoping he won't try to make conversation.

He walks over with a sling in hand.

"This should set the bones in place." He replies. He gently wraps my arm in some foam, ties it, and attaches the sling. He swings my legs over the table and instructs me to stand. I oblige. My legs feel like jelly, and the blood rushes to my head. I notice that my underthings are resting on the table beside me. Thankfully the sheet is still in place. He grabs my underwear.

"I can do it myself." He smirks and hands me the underwear. "Turn around!" He does. I try to slip the underwear over my ankles, but it's useless with one hand. I try placing it on the ground and slipping my feet through, but it still won't work. Defeated, I let out a frustrated cry. He turns around.

"Now now, don't hurt yourself." I feel embarrassed, terribly so. He gets down on his knees and easily glides my feet through the leg holes. He circles around so he's at my back, and kneels, again. He quickly brings them up so they rest on my hips. The sheet is still covering my front. "Drop it."

"What?"

"Drop the sheet." He holds a large, grey tee-shirt in his hands. I do, realizing that I have my back to him. He slips my head through and I push my free arm through the arm-hole. It feels awkward, having only one arm through the hole. It must be one of his old work tees, for on the front it reads "S.T.A.R.S." I feel a jolt of guilt, realizing now how worried Chris must be.

He leads me back to my room. The floor is now slightly furnished. Two blankets and a small pillow. He's gone now. I sigh carefully lower myself to the ground, and inspect the blankets beside me. Both are white and quilted, and are somewhat thick. I use one as a mattress.

It's some time before he returns. He carries a tray of food in his hands.

"Soup." He says simply. I ignore him and sniff at the bowl tentatively. "It's not poisoned."

"And how do I know that?"

"You don't trust me?" I know he's being sarcastic. He chuckles briefly before bringing a spoonful to my mouth. It's chicken noodle; how unexpected.

"I can feed myself." I say; venom in my voice. He looks somewhat pained, but I brush it off. There is a moment of pro-longed silence and the awkward clang of the spoon as it falls back into the soup bowl.

"Suit yourself." He gets up and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. I sigh.

I notice an apple on the tray as well, along with a glass of water and some soda crackers. Great, this is worse than hospital food, I think miserably to myself. But I feel weak, and I'm starving, and I don't care if it's poisoned at this point. I greedily eat the soup, and devour everything else around me, and at last, I feel content.

I push the tray aside and curl up under the blanket. It's dark in here, I notice. A crack of light shines from under the door, making the room seem even colder.

Something catches my eye, something that wasn't there before.

I get up and run my fingers along the side of the western wall. I feel what I'm looking for and stand up. It's a door. I feel for the handle and open.

I can't make out anything, but soon my eyes adjust and I realize it's a small bathroom. It's only equipped with a toilet and small sink. I feel along the edges of the wash basin and find a bar of soap, that's it. I can't see a medicine cabinet, or anything of that matter.

I sigh and exit the bathroom, I'm tired and need my rest.

Who knows what Wesker has in store for me.


	2. Can't Stomach the Taste

**AN-**Thank you guys all for the amazing reviews! I was hoping that this story would be received well. Again, thank you!

~Chestnut

------

_Get me out of this place_

_Cause I'm stuck in a rut and I can't stomach the taste_

_My lungs are filling up with dust_

_I feel bruised and broken with no one left to trust - City and Colour, Faithless_

_------_

It's so dark...

_Where am I?_

I groan and heave myself up from my little nest of blankets. My throat itches, and my mouth is dry; very dry.

_Where am I?_

I remember now. The steely, cold room that is now my own lair. I try moving my right arm, and a sharp cry escapes my lips.

"Oh yeah..." I mutter. I slump back down and let out a frustrated growl.

Stupid Wesker. Stupid, stupid Wesker.

I look down to inspect my legs. Filthy, absolutely filthy. He must have dragged me through dirt or mud. I wipe my finger down my shin, and rub my fingers together. The grains of dirt scratching my finger pads comforts me, and I don't know why. The light under the door is brighter than usual. The light casts eerie shadows on the wall, almost menacing in a way. I suck in my breath as something moves past the door, blocking out the light for a mere second.

My heart is pounding in my chest.

My fingers clutch the edge of the blanket, my knuckles feel white hot.

The light is now completely blocked by _something _directly in front of the door. My eyes widen considerably as the handle starts to turn.

_Oh god, ohgod...._

The door swings open, revealing a tall figure only illuminated by the outside lights. I hope to gods that it's Wesker.

_Well, of course it's Wesker--I hope. _

I let out a small sigh of relief as my eyes make out the outline of his sunglasses. He doesn't say a word, and that frightens me to death. As he steps closer, I can make out something in his hand.

It's a syringe.

_Oh god..._

"Jillian." He says, "I hope that you had a good sleep."

_Please let that be Ibuprofen..._

I press myself up against the wall, bringing my knees to my chest. I try to make myself as small as possible; anything to get away from him. He chuckles softly, he's very close now--so close, I can smell him. Spicy, warm, almost comforting. The polar opposite of everything Wesker.

"Now now, Jillian." In the blink of an eye, he's inches away from me. "This won't hurt at all."

I scream and scramble to my feet, and in an instant, I'm across the room. Terror wracks through my chest as he turns around, a smirk playing on his lips.

"There's no use in running."

I turn my head ever so slightly to the left, and see that the door is still open.

I make a mad dash for the hallway, round the corner, and soon I'm almost to the door leading to the stairwell. I tear at the handle, trying desperatly to rip it open. Finally, the door opens and I tear down the adjacent hallway. I'm almost to the end, sweet freedom! But my escape is short lived. A large hand wraps around my waist and reels back into a muscled chest. I struggle, hard. I thrash and kick, scream and punch. My teeth bite his gloved hand, clamping down as hard as I can, my jaw straining with the force. I finally managed to get free, shove him harshly, and soon I'm sprinting down the hallway as fast as I can go. I can hear his boots padding behind me as round the corner and practically jump down the stairs.

"Jillian, I told you, there's no use in running." I yelp and spin around, he's right behind me.

"No!" I scream, seeing the syringe in his hand. I start pounding his chest, anything to get him to stop. I start screaming, yelling, anything to get at least buy me some time so I can plan my escape.

"Quiet!" He harshly whispers. He grips by my broken arm and wrenches me close to my chest. "It's morphine you silly girl. I told you I would give you something to ease the pain." As the last word escapes his mouth, he twists my arm. I cry out and slump into his chest. Sobs start racking my body.

Why me?

He changes, suddenly. I hate it when he does that. He gently pats my head, and dips the needle into the soft spot of my arm, more gently than I expected. As the plunger slowly drops, and the clear liquid enters my veins, I suddenly feel very tired.

"You'll sleep it off for a few hours, Jillian. I'll...food...send...up" I can't register what he says as sleep consumes me, much quicker than I anticipated. And for once, I feel warm.

OooooooO

When I wake up, I feel groggy and sluggish. I try to get up, but am bound by the bed-sheets tucked neatly around my body. Wait--bed-sheets? Since when did I...

_Oh...god._

I realize now that I'm in Wesker's bed.

It's large, probably a king size, and sports cool, white pillows and silky sheets, along with a plush, feather duvet. I feel slightly enraged at the fact that I have a broken arm and am sleeping on the floor. I blink slowly, registering the numb feeling of my sore limbs pressed firmly against the taught sheets.

There's something in the room.

But perhaps it was just the curtains blowing in the breeze.

_Breeze? I thought we were underground?_

I can see a window, and as clear as day...night, I can see stars. Literally, I feel dizzy.

I gulp down my nausea and break free from the sheets, and I manage to clamber to my feet. I slowly pad over to the window, the cool marble on my feet feels good. Marble? Jesus Wesker, did you hire Michelangelo as your interior decorator? Then again, they shared similar qualities.

Bother were insane geniuses.

I gulp down my fear of Wesker popping out from under the bed and walk over to the window. Yup, it's a window. I feel the sturdy sill underneath my sweaty palms and look out into the night.

I realize now that we're not just underground, we're in a mountain--more like a cliff to be exact.

Wesker had the perfect view. The mountains to the north, forests down below--make that very far down below, and a glimmering ocean a few hundred miles to the east. It was only a sliver over the horizon.

I grow tired of the cliche fairy-princess castle "my prince will save me" look I'm giving and get up from my kneeling position. Even though I know Wesker sleeps in this bed, I crawl back under the covers.

"Quite a lovely view, is it not?" I almost jump out of my skin at the sudden voice. Wesker emerges from the dark, his black overcoat now gone.

"How long have you been there?"

I can hear him smile in the dark.

"Long enough to see you jostle from my bed like a broken rag-doll." He strides over to the side of the window, and crosses his arms, as if he's critiquing his perfect view. "You should stay up, the view looks better in the morning."

I snort. "Doesn't everything look better in the morning?"

He chuckles at that. "You would be one," he begins. "You should sleep, it's almost 3:00 am."

I'm not falling asleep until one of my burning questions is answered.

"Why am I in...your bed?" I ask. He chuckles again and casually walks over to the side of the bed. He sits down beside me, my vertical frame now slightly suspended by the shift in weight.

"You broke the lock on your door with your little...episode earlier." The last few words drawl out from his mouth, rolling off his tongue like oil. "For now, sleep." It comes out like more of a command then a suggestion. I'm too tired to fight with him. He gets up and leaves, at least, that's what I think he does.

I don't hear the door click shut, and I simply assume that he's too bloody quiet for his own good.

I can't sleep. I don't know why, I just can't. I wait a few more minutes to see if I get tired. Ten minutes pass, and I'm still wide awake.

_It smells good_

I comment, inhaling the scent of the pillow

_Like him_

I quickly shut my eyes and block out any thoughts I'm having about Wesker at the moment. Jesus, the guy's not making my arm any better. I grumble and decide it best to--do a little sleuthing.

The room is very barren, say for a few chairs and a large dresser. I examine the dresser, only to find under-shirts and socks. The rest of the drawers are empty. Underneath the bed is virtually spotless, besides for a few stray dust bunnies. There's a suspicious looking filing cabinet to my left. I tug at the silver handle, only to find that it's locked.

"Well, I am the master of the unlocking," I whisper to myself. I pull out one of the pins keeping my sling secure and un-twist it. "Perfect." I mumble as I jam it into the key-hole. After a few jostles, the lock finally clicks. I smile to myself, and open the cabinet.

It's empty.

I let out a moan and slump to the floor. All that work for nothing.

_Why the hell would Wesker lock an empty filing cabinet?_

Unless--this was some reverse psychology tactic he brewed up. I try the bottom cabinet, and find that it's locked as well. It takes me about a minute to unlock it. I open it, only to find a single, manilla file. I open it.

On the inner flap it reads "P30's".

_The hell? _

There's a sheet attached.

_P30: an ancillary chemical capable of controlling the subject for a brief period of time. The subjects speed, strength and over-all capability will increase dramatically, and the user will be easily controllable--_

I hear footsteps, and I quickly place the file back inside the quietly shut the cabinet. I hobble back into the bed, and try to appear as if I'm asleep. My breathing becomes deeper, hopefully he'll fall for it. He doesn't say a word as he enters to room. I watch intently from lidded eyes as he un-zips his leather cut-off jacket, revealing a tee-shirt underneath. He neatly folds the jacket and places it on one of the chairs lining the room. He removes his sunglasses with a hidden panache, only observable from my perspective. He folds them and places them gently down onto the table. His eyes are glowing an eerie yellow. Thankfully he leaves his pants on. I flinch as he crawls into the bed, his large frame only a few feet beside mine.

He's stiff as a board, his body pulled into a perfect, parallel line.

I can't tell if he's asleep or not, his eyes are still open. Finally, they slowly close, and his breathing becomes deep and irregular.

_Not even in sleep, are you perfect. _


	3. His song I sing

_**Wes Brot ich ess, des Lied ich sing. (Whose bread I eat, his song I sing) **__- _German idiom

_-------------------_

_I didn't hear you leave _

_I wonder how am I still here _

_And I don't want to move a thing _

_It might change my memory _

_Oh I am what I am _

_I do what I want _

_But I can't hide _- Dido - Hear With Me

_-------------------_

_The P30 is working. The small injection of 'morphine' I gave her has reacted extremely well. As a test, I asked her to touch her nose in her sleep, the response was immediate. There are side-effects, however, it wears off extremely fast. I'll have to somehow think of a way to constantly feed the chemical into her. _

_------------------_

A jolt awakens me from my slumber.

_Where am I?_

I drag my eyes up, and all I can see is darkness. An odd, grey darkness.

My throat stings. I realize now that I'm no longer in Wesker's room.

A coarse moan escapes my lips as my horribly bruised arm falls to my side.

_Where am I?_

My vision is brought into sharp focus as my eyes adjust to the darkness. High ceiling, metal interior, Tricell logo on the side wal--wait, Tricell? I shake my head, I have more important things to be worrying about more than Wesker's affiliates.

First of all, am I alright?

I sit up, with what little energy I have, and inspect myself. Well, I'm naked, _again. _I lift the sheet covering myself and look to my broken arm. The sling is gone. Finger shaped bruises are imprinted on my arm, I'm hardly surprised; he was holding me so tight I thought he'd snap it clean off. I look down and inspect my gamy stomach and legs. I'm filthy, absolutely filthy. I can't believe as to how _dirty _I am.

I gasp.

How could I have not seen it before? I look back to my broken arm and shudder, there's a bump-which is clearly my bone-which is grotesquely purple and green.

I slump back against the metal table and sigh.

Why am I not dead? What could Wesker possibly want with me? Definitely not his whorish little fuck-toy who would travel across the globe with him. I give a sour chuckle at the thought.

I can hear the sound of a door opening. I suck in my breath and close my eyes.

Wait, do I hear a woman's voice?

'...no doubt she's asleep.'

Is she talking to herself? I don't recognize the voice, it's accented, Italian perhaps? I hear the sound of her heels clicking against the metal floor.

Pencil scrapes across paper as the telltale sound of a clip-board clanks against a table-top. She starts to hum. The audible sound is some-what soothing, is it a lullaby? I turn my head slightly to inspect her figure. From what little light there is, I can make out business attire. A large chignon rests on the top of her head. That's all I can see in this light.

She strides over to my side, and then I realize her blouse shows ample amounts of cleavage, granted, it looks like she's not wearing a bra. She smells like my grandmother-Chanel No. 5-as I catch a wiff of her arm reaching over me to grab a strip of leather.

_Oh...god._

She grasps my broken arm and snaps it into place. I can see what the leather was for.

'Jill.' She says my name. It sounds odd, the way it trills in her foreign tongue. She repeats my name.

I don't say anything.

She lets out an irate huff and instructs me to sit up. I do, but as I'm rising up, she puts her arm out in front of me.

'No sheet.' She says. Even in the darkness, I shoot her a worried glance. She chuckles, 'you have everything I've already seen, now drop it.' The sheet falls to the floor, and she asks me to stand. I oblige and slide down onto uneasy feet. My legs feel like jelly.

I still cover myself when she flicks on a light.

I can see how beautiful she is now. Curvy, broad shoulders, green eyes, and here I am standing naked with knotted hair and a layer of dirt caked onto my skin. She looks me up and a down, nods, and walks back to her clip board. I'm deathly afraid of what she's writing down. Is she going to pull out a pair of scissors, cut off my hair and gas me? I feel like a quivering prisoner waiting for my death in a concentration camp. I don't know why I'm so terrified. Perhaps it's her silence; she's like a steely Kommandant, all she needs now is a riding crop and uniform.

'Come over here.' She instructs. My cold feet pad across the even colder floor to stand by her side.

She clicks her tongue and non-chalantly flips through a few pages of her clip board. The wait is agonizing, and it's painfully cold in here.

'Follow me.' She finally says.

'Wait! You can't expect me to walk a--'

Before I can finish my sentence she throws me a lab coat. I mumble my thanks and hug the fabric around my frame.

A door slides shut behind us as we walk into a dimly lit hallway. 'Sub Level-04.' Great, we're even deeper under-ground, no doubt if we go even deeper we'll find a laboratory and a few B.O.W's. I shudder at the thought. We keep walking for what seems like hours until she stops in front of a door. I watch intently as she takes an I.D. card from her wrist and slides it through a card reader. I can make out the letters 'E' and 'X' written on the side, the rest is covered by her hand.

The door opens up, revealing ten sets of bunk-beads and lockers. I realize now that this must have been a military base long abandoned from World War Two. The woman walks through the barracks and leads me to a large shower stall.

'You have ten minutes.' She exclaims. I nod.

The water only rises to luke-warm, but that's good enough for me. I try to keep my arm out of the water; it stings. Every soap dispenser is empty, but after some poking around I find a dusty bottle of castile soap. I can't believe how much dirt runs down the drain as I wash myself.

I can't find any shampoo, but I shrug and use the soap, it's better than nothing.

The woman knocks on the door and tells me my time is up. She throws me a towel, which is more like a hand-towel, and instructs me to wait for her outside. Once I'm dry and back in the lab-coat, I exit the stall and see the enigmatic woman inspecting her nails. She looks me over.

Was that my imagination, or did she just get a facial tick?

She leads me down the hallway we came from previously, but we don't re-enter the room I found myself in. I can feel my heart-rate rising.

_Get a hold of yourself, Jill. _

I swallow down my anxiety and follow her to what appears to be an elevator door.

I guess my mystery woman doesn't like taking the stairs.

'It's a service elevator,' she says cooly, 'i would find it...cruel, to make you walk up ten flights of stairs in your-' she pauses briefly '-condition.'

I glower at her mocking tone and follow her into the large elevator. I look to the panel and realize as to how _big _this facility is. Twenty-six floors in all. I'm guessing the most recent 'additions' were added on-top of the base. No doubt Ozwell had something to do with it.

It's then that my eyes scan the top of the panel; it displays _what _the level is used for.

_Barracks, Medical Bay, Chemical Lab....._

The list went on as we ascended. Finally, the elevator let out a chime as we reach our destination.

_Private Quarters_

Great, I'm back in Wesker's little 'perfect world'.

'....no, Ricardo, I doubt we'll be seeing each other in the near future.' I can hear the sound of a phone beeping.

It's him, the bastard that brought me here.

Hate surges through me like a violent electrical current, from my head to the tips of my toes and fingers. My lividness goes unnoticed, for the most part. The mystery woman gives him a playful smirk as he advances, but he doesn't return it.

'Jillian, it looks like you finally cleaned yourself up.'

He laughs lightly at the look on my face.

I notice that my hair is still dripping. The droplets feel like ice on my skin.

'Thank you for the tour, Albert, but I must be going.' The woman put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a lascivious smile. 'Hope to be seeing you soon.'

He's abso-fucking-lutely emotionless as she walks away, golden heels clicking on the marble floor.

'I didn't know you have a partner.' I say, watching her disappearing figure. I'm aware of the sourness in my voice.

'My my, Jillian, you seem jealous,' he begins, 'but to answer your assumption, she is not my partner.'

I look at him momentarily.

'Granted, you're probably wondering as to what she is doing here. Her name is Excella Gionne, a talented researcher from Tricell,' he pauses shortly, 'she's interested in my work.'

I don't answer him, I merely stare ahead.

I hug the lab-coat closer to my body, it's chilly in here.

I bump my bad arm and yelp from the sudden jolt of pain. He looks down at me, one eyebrow raised.

He's gone. It's been some time since I was left alone in this room. Small, plain, and finally sporting a bed. I decide to get some sleep, maybe he'll bring me some food; I'm starving. As my head rests on the pillow, I can't help but focus on Chris. He's probably grief stricken by now.

A small tear runs down my cheek, I wipe it away furiously.

_You're a soldier, Jill, don't forget that. _

After that reassuring thought, my mind drifts off into sleep. However, it's short lived, as the audible sound of boots thumping outside in the hallway awakens me.

I can hear the door click open. Wondering if the mystery woman-rightfuly dubbed Excella-has returned, I give a tentative peek form under the covers. All I can make out is a black form against the pale ecru wall.

'Tell me, Jillian, why did you sacrifice yourself for your partner?' He asks as he walks to the side of the window-less room, arms folded behind his back. 'Chris is a milk-before-cereal sort of person, Jill, I wouldn't expect you, of all people, to tackle me out of a castle window.'

I can feel white-hot anger pooling in my stomach; fueling my limbs with primal rage. I don't know how I was able to find my voice.

'I'm selfless.' I reply through gritted teeth. He chuckles darkly.

'Do you expect me to dignify that pitiful response with an answer?'

I get up onto my feet, legs spring-loaded. I real back to deliver a punch, but he easily catches my balled-up fist. He slams me against the wall, as if I were a rag doll. His hand snakes down from above my head, and grasps my throat. I can feel that stinging sensation come back.

I cough.

'Unlike you, I give a damn about people. He has a sister, something to live...for.' I squeeze my eyes shut and choke.

He raises his eyebrows, though the rest of his expression remains unfathomable.

He squeezes harder; thumb digging into my artery.

'Ah, not so brave now are we, Jillian?' That horrible, gloating smirk makes it way back onto his face as he releases his grasp on me.

I rub my throat and glare, but his back is already turned to me. 'To answer your question, I sacrificed myself because you were hurting my partner; you were going to kill him,' I take a breath in, 'and I wouldn't think twice about killing _you._'

He walks around the room, seemingly unscathed by my bitter tone.

There's a horrible silence as he paces to the side of the bed, inspecting the sheets. He doesn't give me a response. Instead, he sits on the bed and looks back to me through those damn sunglasses.

I feel like screaming at him. My arm hurts, I'm pretty sure there are a few glass shards embedded in my skin, not to mention a few broken ribs.

_Don't cry Jill, don't give in. _

I just want to break down and let my emotions go, get rid of all the water waiting to fall from my tear-ducts.

_You're alright, come on, you can do it._

But I'm not alright.

I take a few shaky breaths.

'I didn't ask for any of this,' my voice is quivering, 'I'm surprised you didn't leave me to die.'

I don't know what he's going to do, I feel terrified. I press myself further into the wall.

That smirk has turned it self into a smile, but it's not a pleasant smile, it reminds me a friendly snake.

'It's that irritating courage of yours,' he says 'that's why you're alive, Jillian.'

He walks towards me, hauls me onto my feet, and looks down into my face. I can see his fiery-eyes peeking out from behind his shades.

I look up into those pits of hell; once human. I don't know what I'm looking for, compassion, perhaps. Maybe even a hint of warmth. I may as well been looking into a charcoal briquette, for whatever kindness that was left in him has long since burned away.

_But know one can be truly evil, can they?_

I hope to god I won't have to find that out the hard way.

'I don't have to ask your permission for you to follow me,' he says suddenly, 'but _something _needs to be done about those wounds.'

I look down at my legs, small bumps can be seen along the surface of my skin.

Glass, I'm guessing.

A few broken ribs as well, but I've gotten so used to having them I don't notice the pain when I breathe.

He pushes me, with out question, into the hallway. I can feel his fingers prodding the small of my back, directing me towards the elevator. He follows as I stand on the cold surface.

_Sick Bay_

The old wording sticks out like a sore thumb against the panel of more technical terms, I notice. As we descend, the lights that glow under each level-name form a luminescent pattern on the steely walls, and I can't help but crack a small smile as they dance across Wesker's face.

The lift comes to a shuddering stop. A cool rush of air swirls around my ankles as the door slides open, revealing yet again, a long metal hallway. This seems to be a reoccurring theme in this god-forsaken place.

Surprisingly, the 'sick bay' is rather small. A hospital gurney idly rests beside a slew of old machines that look like they haven't been used in about forty years. A steel countertop hugs the western wall, equipped with a small sink and jars of numerous medical supplies.

The tongue depressors and cotton balls remind me of my doctor's office as a child.

There's an examination table beside the counter.

'Onto the table.' He instructs. I haul myself up, and sit. The waxy strip of paper crinkles underneath my weight; a resulting wave of nostalgia consumes me as my fingers caress the smooth surface.

He rummages about the room, and returns to my side holding a tray of medical tools. I can see a pair of tweezers, isopropyl alcohol, cotton balls, and some gauze.

'I was convinced as a child that rubbing alcohol was a liquid used to torture children--' I muse. He glances up at me briefly before grabbing my left ankle in his gloved hand. The cotton ball between his fingers swells with the alcohol, and more gently than I expected, he begins to rub it over my shin in small circular motions.

I suck in a breath.

'--I was right.'

Wesker disposes of the dirtied wad of cotton and picks up the tweezers. 'Keep still,' he mutters. The twin blades quickly snake underneath my flesh.

A few minutes pass. Thirteen pieces and counting reside on the metal tray.

By the time both of my legs are finished, the amount of glass on the tray is startling.

Again, he rubs both of my legs over with the rubbing alcohol. I've never bitten my lip so hard in my life. He rubs a topical ointment on the cuts, and tops it all off with the gauze and some medical tape.

'There's nothing I can do about those broken ribs,' he says cooly. I nod.

He motions for me to remove my broken arm from the comforts of the lab-coat. His fingers touch the tender, swollen flesh where the bone once protruded.

I watch from the corner of my eye as he goes back towards the counter. I look to the ceiling and begin to count the small speckles that fleck the tarnished surface. It hurts my neck when I crane my head back like this, but it feels good to finally look up at something.

I can feel his eyes on my bruised trachea. He returns to my side holding a familiar fabric in his hands.

I feel relieved as the sling goes back on.

'Get off.' He says curtly.

The elevator ride is silent besides the groaning of steel cables. We walk back to my room.

'I'll bring you something to eat,' he begins. 'You should get some rest.'

I don't have time to nod.

The small, and only light in the room, flickers with a cold ambience as I sit down on the bed. My head hits the pillow and I sigh. At least I received some decent medical attention.

If Wesker wasn't a tyrant looking to kill anyone who gets in his way, I would probably use him as my doctor.

He wouldn't try to make small talk.

I chuckle at the thought of 'Doctor Wesker.'

Fifteen minutes pass before he returns. Whatever he's brought me, it smells good. He places the tray down on the small beside table.

I wasn't expecting him to sit down on the foot of the bed.

'Eat'. He commands quietly. I sit up and place the container on my lap.

Soup, steamed vegetables and rice. A small glass of milk occupies the tray along with an apple.

'You'll have to get used to non-pershible food.'

I look to the apple and the milk.

'Excella will be stopping by every month, I've asked her to deliver fresh fruits and dairy products,' he adjusts his wrist-watch 'for your benefit, of course.'

I get the feeling that he's trying to atone for almost crushing my wind-pipe.

It's then that I notice a rather large pill beside the milk. I pick it up and sniff it.

A multivitamin, I'm guessing, by its familiar scent.

He sits in silence and watches me eat. I would find it awkward if he was staring at me, but his eyes are occupied with the wall. Once I'm finished, I pop the vitamin and the rest of the milk. There's a long silence before he gets up.

He removes the tray from my lap.

Before he disappears out the door, he turns and looks at me.

'You'd best get some sleep,' I look at him curiously, 'you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.'

I don't want to think about what that even _remotely _implies.

'Goodnight, Jillian.'

Wesker's tenderness, no matter how hard he hides it, terrifies me.

It means he's up to something,

I'm sure.

-------

**AN- Holy Lickers-wearing-panties-whilst dancing-and-singing Monty Python on a toasted sesame bun, I'm sorry that took so long! **


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